


Consume You

by Viera_writes_stuff



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, M/M, Oral Sex, Painplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 16:28:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1233349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viera_writes_stuff/pseuds/Viera_writes_stuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What makes you so sure?”</p>
<p>Sherlock replied without blinking, staring straight ahead.</p>
<p>“He told you I intend to make a sexual advance on you some day in the future and that it will be completely out of context and without reason. He also offered you an alternate option; he probably told you he could find you a new flat, new flatmate, somewhere away from me…” he paused, smirking the tiniest bit and for the first time that night, glancing over at John. “and yet, here you are.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consume You

Sherlock knew that Mycroft had warned John. John was late coming home, and Sherlock knew it was his pompous brother’s doing. Mycroft had taken John aside-just like every other roommate he had managed to keep longer than a month- and warned him of Sherlock’s demanding and volatile sexual behaviour. Of course Mycroft knew of everything Sherlock did. He knew how he treated people he was interested in, and he knew how he was planning on treating John. When John came home that night, Sherlock knew by the forced calm on his face that he had heard of Sherlock’s plan.

“So he spoke to you?” Sherlock stated, more than inquired, before John  
even closed the door. He sat on the couch with his elbows on his knees and his fingertips pressed together, holding his index fingers to his lips.

“Wh--…I..I’m sorry, what?” John replied, gesturing his ear closer to  
Sherlock as if he honestly didn’t hear him.

“My idiot brother. He stole you away and sat you down to talk to you. Judging by the stain on your cuff and the crumbs on your jumper, you had tea and biscuits. How charming. He calmed you down with treats before telling you the important bit, did he not?”

John’s ears became red, and Sherlock could hear that high, barely audible squeak he made when his breath caught in his throat.

“I...w-….”

“Oh _please_ , John, I know what happened. I know what he told you.”

John swallowed, cocking his head to both sides a bit. He adjusted his footing, steeling himself.

“What makes you so sure?”

Sherlock replied without blinking, staring straight ahead.

“He told you I intend to make a sexual advance on you some day in the future and that it will be completely out of context and without reason. He also offered you an alternate option; he probably told you he could find you a new flat, new flatmate, somewhere away from me…” he paused, smirking the tiniest bit and for the first time that night, glancing over at John. “and yet, here you are.”

John stood speechless by the door, his lips pursed in a nervous, tight line as he drummed his fingertips against his thigh.

“W-…a-as a matter of fact, he did…he did tell me all that.”

Sherlock studied John for a moment, gathering data of all sorts from the movement of his fingers to the twitch in his bottom lip.

“You don’t know if it’s true…you think it’s all a load of rubbish Mycroft made up…” he smirked, standing up. “You want to know if he was telling the truth…” he pushed his hands in his pockets, his eyes narrowing. “In fact you’re _dying_ to know.”

John’s face was an incriminating shade of pink, and the blush was rising to his ears. He swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly parched.

“Can you blame me? It’s quite…curious.” John almost squeaked, thankful he kept his voice in check.

He made sure not to look in Sherlock’s darkened eyes for more than a second at a time.

Sherlock made a face as if considering that it _was_ a far-fetched situation, walking slowly over to John.

“I guess it does seem quite unlikely, given what you’ve gathered in our time together so far…” He smirked, looking up into the army  
doctor’s face.

“…but you don’t _really_ know me…” he shook his head ever so slightly, cocking it to the side and narrowing his eyes a bit. “…not really.”

John didn’t back away, planting his feet where they were as Sherlock advanced. He managed to keep somewhat of a straight face, but his heart was slamming against his ribs and his pulse was dangerously high. He had the urge to wipe the drop of sweat running down his forehead, but he resisted, knowing Sherlock would deduce _something_ about it. He wasn’t exactly in the mood to feel even _more_ mortified.

“And what don’t I know about you?” He asked, his voice more grounded this time.

“Oh _lots_.” Sherlock cooed, tilting his head to accentuate his words.

John took a short breath. “Like what?”

He didn’t know why he asked. He didn’t think he would really be concerned in hearing what Sherlock had to say on the matter, but he surprised himself with how interested he ended up being.

Watching Sherlock pace in a small area in front of him, John steadied his breath as much as he could. Sherlock had that smirk on his lips, the one that only pulled up one corner of his mouth and showed that he knew something John didn’t.

“Well, Sherlock?” He surprised himself with how impatient he suddenly was.

“Well…for starters…you think I’m asexual, no? You think I have no desire for sex at all.”

Sherlock spoke smoothly, that damned smirk still on his lips. John adjusted his facial expression nervously, the desire to pull at his collar and wipe his forehead even direr now.

“Are you not?” He asked, knowing full well he was going to get an answer he would probably regret asking for.

Sherlock almost fully grinned, looking somewhat like a panther circling in front of helpless prey. 

“Of course not, John. I actually have a very _ardent_ sexual appetite,” he replied, his voice low and clear, making sure John heard every articulate syllable. 

John’s neck went icy hot and a chill ran down his back.

“I never see you with anyone…why don’t you have a partner?” He asked, cursing his voice for sounding so damned weak.

The curly-haired detective huffed out what sounded like a soft, one-syllable chuckle. Almost as if remembering a distant memory.

“…there’s something people don’t know about me. Mycroft thinks he knows, but he doesn’t know the half of it…he only knows what he’s heard…”

“And what doesn’t he know?” John asked, his voice low and inquisitive. 

No matter how much he tried to deny it, he was bloody curious.  
Sherlock wet his lips, raising his eyes to meet John’s for a moment.  
“…I’m _vicious_.” He said softly, nearly growling out the last word.

“… _god_ …” John whispered, barely audible. He almost staggered, his head feeling dizzy.

Sherlock advanced, facing John and moving a step closer.

“When I say vicious…I mean it, John. I get aggressive…brutal…violent…sadistic, even…” He took a breath, sounding like he was struggling a bit-first time of the night, John noted-.

“Why…why are you telling me this?” John asked softly, his lips quivering a bit.

Sherlock stepped even closer, causing John to finally stagger back a little so he was a few inches from the wall.

“Because…Mycroft was right…I _am_ going to make an advance…”

John let out a sort of scared noise of realization as he took another step back and found himself against the wall. He shut his eyes for a moment.

“I…I still don’t know why you had to tell me all that…why do I need to know?”

“Because, John… _this_ is my advance. You need to decide…are you going to flee…or stay. I told you the terms…I will be relentless…I will utterly and completely _consume_ you…” Sherlock brought his lips to John’s ear on those last words, his breath hot and damp on the lobe.

John shuddered, cursing under his breath. He opened his eyes to find Sherlock with his hands on the wall on either side of John’s head, pinning him there. He looked away, staring at the adjacent wall and screaming internally just how the _fuck_ this had happened.  
He gasped as he felt Sherlock give an encouraging nibble to his earlobe, a flick of tongue detectable behind the dull teeth.

“You may flee if you would like…but unless you take my brother up on his offer, I will never stop pestering you…I will constantly attempt to initiate advances, and I will not stop until you give in.”

Sherlock reveled in the weak sound that escaped John’s throat.  
“So, John…what will it be? Will you flee……or stay?” He punctuated his question with a rougher bite to John’s ear.

John whimpered, utterly terrified but, according to his groin, also extremely excited. He wet his lips, too nervous to speak.

“Fine…can’t talk? Tap the wall. Once for flee. Two for stay.” The detective spoke hotly in John’s ear.

The army doctor swallowed dryly, raising his eyes to the ceiling as his brain raced along with his heart rate. He hit his hand against the wall once. 

“Flee?” Sherlock asked.

John stood still a moment, silence filling the room. He shut his eyes and eventually brought his hand to the wall a second time.

Two hits.

Sherlock made a sort of feral growling sound, nuzzling his face further into John’s neck.

“Are you sure John? I will _wreck_ you…”

“Y-yeah…” John managed, his voice cracking and quiet.

Sherlock bit at John’s neck, a bit rougher. 

“No going back now…you’re _mine_ , John…”

John couldn’t speak; he was too overwhelmed. What with the close proximity and Sherlock’s lips and teeth on his neck, his senses were in overdrive. He could smell the dark, cinnamon scent that Sherlock always carried, along with something stronger that he couldn’t discern exactly, but it drove him absolutely _mad_. He felt every little minute movement of Sherlock’s tongue and lips and teeth against his neck, biting and sucking and kissing. He heard the labored breath heaving out of the detective, could taste the mint from that breath in the air. 

“John I’m going to hurt you,” Sherlock panted, pulling away from John’s neck and moving his hands from the wall to grip tightly at John’s hips.

John tried to catch his breath, looking into Sherlock’s blown-out eyes.

“I know…I know you will…” he paused, wetting his lips anxiously.

“…I’m looking forward to it,” he added, his cheeks becoming a dark red.

Sherlock seemed to go into overdrive after hearing this, because he thrust his hips forward, grinding his crotch against John’s as he gripped his hips even tighter.

“Ah..Sherlock..” John gasped, his eyes rolling back a bit at the sensation. He was only partially aware before of how hard he had become, but when Sherlock pressed against him, he became _painfully_ aware of just how hard. He let out soft grunts and gasps, accompanied by Sherlock’s mantra of incoherent ramblings.

“Are you a masochist, John?” Sherlock managed to ask clearly between his mumbling.

A wave of icy heat ran up John’s back and neck as Sherlock mentioned something he hadn't told anyone _ever_. 

“I…well I mean I…”

“You are aren’t you?”

“…yes…I don’t usually act on it, but…”

“I didn’t ask for details, John…” Sherlock growled out.

He suddenly grabbed John’s wrists and slammed them against the wall, causing John to wince at the dull burn in his knuckles.

“Do. You. Like. Pain.” Sherlock punched out roughly, his breath on John’s lips now. Sherlock’s lips were so close to his, and John’s heart fluttered at the wisp of mint air he inhaled.

“Y-yes…” John whimpered, breathless. 

He became aware he was moving his hips against Sherlock in little thrusts, desperate for friction. Sherlock apparently noticed too, because he took both John’s wrists in one hand, pinning them to the wall above them, and slid the other between them, grabbing and palming at John’s erection through his corduroy trousers and _god_ if that wasn’t the best feeling.

John could easily break his wrists free from Sherlock’s grasp if he wanted to, but he didn’t. He left them there and arched off the wall, pressing his hips forward into Sherlock’s.

Sherlock kept his face close, his eyes dark and piercing on John’s wrecked face. He rubbed and groped at the hard, thick line of John’s cock through his trousers, pressing the tip of his index finger to the tip on the down stroke. He elicited a small sound from John whenever he did that, so he began pressing a bit harder. 

“Jesus… _fuck_ , Sherlock… _god_ …” John muttered under his breath, shutting his eyes and resting his head against the wall.

Sherlock let out a slow breath, his lip brushing against John’s. John became suddenly aware of the fact that that was the first time their lips had touched at all. He was suddenly hungry for more, tilting his chin out to try and catch Sherlock’s lips.

Sherlock let out another growling sound as he jerked his head back and forth slightly, teasing John by bringing his lips a hair’s width away, then pulling away.

“So greedy…you’re more eager than I anticipated, John…” Sherlock snarled, biting at John’s lower lip with vicious intent.

John gasped, letting Sherlock ravage his mouth how he wished, not pushing a kiss just yet.

“I guess there are some things you still don’t know about me, Sherlock,” he replied, his voice sounding breathy and hungry.

Sherlock’s eyes locked with John’s for a split second, and suddenly their lips were colliding in a harsh, starving, wet kiss.

John couldn’t keep his arms from breaking free from Sherlock’s grip and clutching at anything he could get his hands on. He fisted a hand in Sherlock’s curls at the nape of his neck, and another in the fabric of his silken robe on his back.

John felt Sherlock’s tongue slide against his in the filthiest manner possible, and adrenaline swelled inside his chest.

“Sh-Sherlock…” John gasped, breaking away and panting. “I…”

“Speak, you bumbling idiot,” Sherlock growled, pulling at John’s hair roughly.

John swallowed, wincing at the pulling.

“Bed.”

\-----  
Once they stumbled through the door to Sherlock’s bedroom, Sherlock shoved John rather hard onto the low bed.  
He fell with a punched out breath, holding himself up on his elbows. His heart slammed against his ribs with excitement, and he was pitching quite the tent in his corduroys.

“Shirt. Gone.” Sherlock ordered, dropping to his knees with one on either side of John’s hips as he shrugged off his silken robe.

“ _NOW_.” He grunted, his eyes almost completely dilated.

John complied, pulling his shirt and jumper over his head and throwing them aside. Sherlock simply watched, his eyes glazed over and analyzing.

“Don’t speak,” He snapped as he saw John part his lips as if to comment.  
“That’s not your place tonight…This isn’t about you, John…” 

John shivered at the detective’s words, closing his mouth rightly.

Sherlock placed the pad of his index finger on John’s lips softly, tilting his head with a dark expression.

“Good boy,” he whispered. The next thing John saw was Sherlock raising his hand up next to his head.

The slap came down on John’s cheek like a thunderclap. For a moment, he didn’t know what happened. All he could see was white, and all he could feel was a burning in his cheek that was spreading a heat throughout his face.

This was new. This was _very_ new.

With one hand, Sherlock grabbed John’s face, turning him to look up at the detective. The dark-haired man held a calm, empowered expression as he looked down on the man on his bed.

“You liked that, didn’t you? Filthy, selfish little _slut_.”

John whimpered at the words slithering past Sherlock’s lips. He’d never heard anything so vulgar, and definitely not from his companion. He nodded in reply, not wanting to risk speaking.

Sherlock’s long fingers stroked along John’s cheeks and jaw.

“Of course you did…naughty little painwhore.”

Sherlock rocked his hips against John’s, grinding his arse against John’s crotch.  
John let out a plethora of whines and gasps as he bucked up against the sweet friction.

“Yes that’s it…show me how you want it…show me…” 

The words snaked past John’s ears as they left Sherlock’s mouth, and hot shivers shot down his spine.

The army doctor rutted up against Sherlock’s arse, reaching up to grip those slender hips. He was rewarded with another hard slap on the cheek.

Sherlock grabbed John’s wrists and pinned them to the bed.

“No hands.”

John let his head fall back as an overwhelmed sigh left his lips. He stared at the ceiling for a moment.  
This was a LOT to take in. This type of situation, the feelings he was experiencing…this terribly possessive side of Sherlock…everything was almost too much. Almost.

“Shall I call you master, then?” he asked, half-joking. He lifted his head to look up at Sherlock.

Sherlock smirked, shaking his head to adjust his hair.

“Hah…no, not necessary. But I do expect you to listen to _everything_ I say,” he growled.

John nodded, wetting his lips.

“Of course…everything.”

“First things first,” Sherlock cooed, his voice rumbling like crushed velvet. _God that voice_. Like he rehearsed each line.

He grabbed John’s jaw rather roughly, looking him dead in the eye.

“I believe I told you…to **shut. up.** ”

John's breath caught in his throat as he saw the intention in Sherlock's eyes.  
His chest was pounding by the time Sherlock reached under his pillow. John looked out of his peripheral vision and saw the thin, sleek, black form of a riding crop being pulled out.

“ _OhgodyesPLEASE_ …” was heard on John’s breath as he spotted the device.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, his eyes half-lidded and his lips slightly parted as he looked down at John.

“Oh? You like this part, yeah? You really are filthy, John…”

John swallowed thickly, his breath wavering.

“Yeah…” he managed, clenching and unclenching his fists on the comforter.

Sherlock sat back on his haunches, slapping the thin instrument against his pale palm.

“I’m going to test how much you _really_ take pleasure in getting hurt, Doctor Watson…” he sneered, his voice in nearly a teasing tone as he spoke his partner’s name.

A slender hand came down to feel along John’s bare torso, sliding and nudging to find sensitive areas and feeling for vital organs. His eyes remained placid and unchanging as he explored John’s skin with his fingertips.

Abruptly, without warning, Sherlock reached for the crop. He dragged the tip along a soft patch on John’s stomach before winding back and landing a cracking blow on John’s sensitive skin.

John let out an unabashed cry through his clenched teeth, arching his back several inches off the bed.

“ **GOD** , _Sherlock_ … **Christ!** ” he cried out, tossing his head to and fro as a red welt began to form on his tender skin.

Sherlock’s eyes were ablaze with power, lust bubbling up behind the strong façade.

“Enjoying yourself, doctor?” he asked. His voice was louder now, leaning towards excitement.

“Do you want more?”

John nodded furiously, gripping at the bedspread tightly till his knuckles were white.

“ _God_ yes…please…” he managed, his breath heavy and labored.

Sherlock took a deep breath through his flared nostrils, and John wondered if anyone had ever actually _let_ him do this to them before. He was acting rather elated and almost happy with the things John was letting him unleash upon him.  
The dark-haired detective wet his lips, canting his hips against John as he landed another whipping smack on the other side of John’s freckled torso.

The doctor howled out a cry, bucking his hips up against Sherlock’s arse and receiving another marvelous slap to the face.

“You are splendidly naughty, John,” came Sherlock’s voice past John’s ringing ear. It was soft, like dragging burgundy velvet across porcelain. 

“Can’t help it,” gasped the army doctor, welts forming on both sides of his exposed stomach.

“You make it too bloody fun…”

Sherlock let out a dark chuckle, the baritone timbre of it rumbling through his chest and resonating deep in John’s ears. The sound was almost about as arousing to John as the touching Sherlock had presented. John felt his cock twitch in his trousers, the cotton of his pants now probably drenched in precome.  
The detective loomed over John, holding himself up with a hand on either wide of the doctor’s head.

“So you’re enjoying yourself? Hmmm…I wonder what other _wicked_ things you’ll allow me do to you…”

John shuddered at the thought, thinking of what Sherlock could possibly have in store.

Sherlock sat back, lightly dragging the tip of the riding crop down and around John’s torso. Soft whimpers left the doctor as the leather brushed his pert nipples.

“As a matter of fact, John…I have something for you to do…”Sherlock nearly whispered.

“And what’s that?” John asked nervously.

Sherlock acted quickly, in a flash of hands and trousers and limbs.  
Suddenly, the detective was on his hands and knees over John, with his hands far above John’s head and his hips right above the doctor’s face. To John’s pleasant surprise, Sherlock had managed to slip off his striped pajama trousers and his erection was now nearly touching John’s nose as it was barely held back by the thin, black cotton material of his briefs.  
Sherlock spoke darkly, his voice a bit gruff.

“You’re going to suck me, do you understand?”

John couldn’t breathe. He wet his lips hungrily as he saw Sherlock’s cock twitch a bit through the fabric.

“Y-yes…” he stuttered, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Sherlock lowered his hips, pressing his erection against John’s cheek.

“ _Now_ , John.” 

John fumbled to get his hands up to Sherlock’s hips, but he managed to get them in front of himself so he could pull the elastic of Sherlock’s pants down slowly.  
A soft, weak noise left John’s throat as Sherlock’s hard cock sprung free and made a soft slap as it smacked against his taut stomach. A small strand of precome painted its way down the head of Sherlock’s thickset cock and suddenly, John wanted nothing more than to have that marvelous thing shoved as far down his throat as he could manage.

Sherlock’s voice came a bit impatient now.

“I said… **suck.** ”

Without hesitation, John grasped the base of Sherlock’s cock and sucked the head in past his lips. He rolled his eyes back and groaned at the feeling and taste as the thick intrusion filled his mouth. He never knew how much pleasure this could bring to the individual doing it, but as soon as that heavy weight slid over his tongue, John felt his cock strain against his trousers again. 

Sherlock let out a satisfied sound, though he remained composed and dominant.

“Watch your teeth, John…curl your lips over them,” he grunted.  
As soon as John complied, he was caught off guard as Sherlock began thrusting relentlessly into the sinful O of John’s lips.

John was letting out a string of gagging, wet sounds as Sherlock’s cock slid in and out of his throat. He felt tears begin to run down the sides of his face, but he never wanted this glorious bombardment to end. He gripped Sherlock’s hips, and for the first time he wasn’t scolded. He tried to let out a hum of enjoyment, but it quickly became a gag as Sherlock suddenly thrust in as deep as he could go and then froze.

John convulsed slightly as he felt the entire length of Sherlock’s cock sheathed in his throat, tickling his gag reflex and cutting off his air.

“Shhh…just relax John…” came Sherlock’s voice, surprisingly weak sounding.

John’s fingers clutched at Sherlock’s hips, digging in slightly as he felt his head become tight with pressure and he felt his lungs begin to burn.  
Sherlock stayed there for about 30 seconds more, every now and then thrusting slightly and eliciting a lewd gag from the army doctor.  
Eventually, to John’s great relief and despair, Sherlock pulled out of the wet cavern of John’s mouth with a wet _pop._

John panted and coughed, his chin drenched with saliva and his face by his eyes streaked with tears.

“Bl-bloody hell….” He stuttered, wiping his mouth as Sherlock lowered himself to eye level again.

“So you like having your face fucked, do you?” Sherlock inquired, unexpectedly pulling his shirt off over his head.

John’s stomach churned at the detective’s words and the view of his slender, creamy-skinned torso, his bottom lip becoming caught between his teeth.

“Fuck yes…” he replied softly, his voice broken due to the assault on his throat. He let out another soft cough.

“Are you clean?” Sherlock suddenly asked, sitting up on his knees and letting his glistening cock bob obscenely in front of him, dripping saliva onto John’s stomach.

John blinked, clearing his throat one last time.  
“I’m sorry?”

Sherlock looked annoyed.

“Infections, John. STIs, are you _clean_?”

John blushed a bit, feeling embarrassed.

“Y-yeah…I got checked when I came back from the army…I’ve only had protected sex since then…” 

He swallowed tightly, watching Sherlock’s expression twitch as the gears turned in his curl-adorned head.

Unexpectedly, Sherlock quickly pulled John’s trousers open and down, throwing them into the heap that was the discarded shirt and jumper lying pathetically on the dark carpet. Those sinfully slim fingers slipped under the white waistband of John’s garishly red pants, and a smirk tugged at the detective’s lips. He didn’t pull them down just yet, teasing his fingertips against John’s goosebump-covered hips.

“My my, John…look at you…how deviant of you, wearing such garish pants…”

Sherlock pressed his palm against the hard shape of John’s trapped erection, pressing his index finger to the tip and encouraging a generous amount of precome to ooze out and leave a dark spot on the red cotton fabric. Sherlock let out what sounded like an approving hum as he pressed his fingertip into the slick, shiny, wet patch, sending electric jolts up John’s spine.

John let out a few helpless sounds, biting onto his lip like a girl as he tried his best to keep quiet. 

“Goodness, John…so _wet_ …” the dark-haired man growled, gripping John’s inner right thigh with his free hand and spreading the pale legs so he could settle between them.

John tossed his head back against the pillow, gasping at the grip on his thigh.

“What are we going to do about that?”

John was forced to look down between his legs to see where Sherlock was speaking from, letting out a soft groan as he spotted the detective with his head between John’s legs, mouthing at the base of his cock through red fabric.

John couldn’t stop his hand from reaching down and losing itself in those tangled curls.

“Sher—haahh…Sherlock, y-…nnh…”

Sherlock kneaded the hard shaft of John’s prick a bit roughly with his lips, closing them over the protuberance and breathing hot, damp air into John’s skin.  
The army doctor let out hissing gasps as Sherlock continued his torture, those icy blue eyes searing into his own as that wicked mouth ravaged him through his pants.

The detective suddenly raised his head with that glazed look of power still burning in his eyes. He slid John’s pants down to his ankles before slipping them off and throwing them god knows where. 

A famished, needy, predatory look came across Sherlock’s features as the doctor’s erection sprang free, causing John to shudder visibly.  
Sherlock’s thin tongue snapped out to quickly wet his full lips before retreating back behind them. John watched as Sherlock reached under the mattress, his heart racing as he saw a blue tube of lubricant. Sherlock’s frigid gaze locked onto his as he snapped it open.

John shut his eyes, bracing himself for what was bound to be an uncomfortable experience. He’d never had sex with a man before, and he’d only once tried fingering himself. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he anticipated the contact of Sherlock’s fingers.

You can imagine his surprise when he felt a warm, slick hand grasp his cock and coat it in slippery, sweet smelling lubricant.

“H-HAH!” he gasped brokenly, his eyes flying open and his hands grasping the sheets.

He looked up to see Sherlock, adorning the cockiest smirk he’d ever seen on the detective.

“What’s the matter, John? Don’t like it?” He gave John’s prick a tight squeeze on a particularly _long_ upstroke.  
“You expected me to fuck you senseless, didn’t you? Well, sorry to disappoint, but this isn’t about you, and tonight, I want to impale myself on this lovely cock of yours and ride you to my heart’s content.”

John groaned and pressed his head back into the pillow, his hips twitching.

“God Sherlo-…Jesus…” he breathed out, his chest heaving violently.

Sherlock bit his lip with a teasing smile, moving to straddle John’s hips as he spread the rest of the lubricant over his arse. He half-closed his eyes, letting out a forced, satisfied sound as he slipped a finger inside himself. John’s face went hot.

“Mmmhh…get ready John…I’m through playing nice with you…let me show you what I warned you about…”

Sherlock’s eyes flashed with mischief as he grasped the base of John’s prick to steady it, slowly sinking down onto the thick intrusion.

John groaned loudly, grasping Sherlock’s hips tightly before receiving a surprisingly strong slap to the face. He looked up disbelievingly at the detective who was now sitting flush against John’s pelvis, but with a solid expression as if he _didn’t_ have a cock shoved up his arse.

“I told you I’m _through_ playing nice, John…no hands, and **shut. up.** ”

John bit his bottom lip hard to keep in broken whimpers and groans as Sherlock swirled his hips slightly, churning his insides with the army doctor’s prick. John was astonished to see nothing more than a light flush on his chest and neck and hear nothing more than a satisfied sigh as the thin man swiveled his lips.

“If you even THINK of thrusting or grabbing or coming without my permission, you can bet your arse won’t like what you get.”

John nodded hurriedly, his weak lids fluttering closed as Sherlock began to bounce.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock braced his hands on John’s chest, feeling the erratic pounding inside as he palmed at the flesh. He bit his lip as he felt John’s thick cock spread him a bit wider than he expected, but that was all the fun. He flashed a wicked grin as he looked down on the writhing doctor below him, almost pitying the man.

“Perfect cock, John…just what I wanted…” He bounced a bit harder, hearing a choked sound come from John’s throat. “Don’t talk until I tell you, understand? If you do…”  
He paused, flattening a hand over John’s left shoulder and pressing his thumb _hard_ against the scar tissue of his shotwound.  
“There will be consequences.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John’s eyes flew wide open and he couldn’t help the strangled, hiccupping gasp that jumped forth from his lips. He arched his back, tossing his head backwards and turning an incriminating shade of red as dull, electric pain shot through his shoulder.

“Fu--…yes…” he whispered, leaning into the touch.

Sherlock let out what sounded like a breathy laugh, broken a bit by the rhythm at which he was riding John. There was a lewd, slapping sound every time he slammed down, and a wet, squelching sound every time he pulled up.

“You truly _adore_ pain, don’t you, doctor?” Sherlock asked, his voice teasing and -even still- collected if not a bit calm.

“Answer me. Speak.”

“Y-yeeaasss….” John groaned, tossing his head to the side as the thumb was worked harder against the scar tissue.

Sherlock leaned over, his face about 20 centimeters away from John’s as he worked his hips harder.  
John could almost see, now that he was closer, the soft blush in his cheeks and the signs of sweat on Sherlock’s brow. 

“More…louder… _scream_ for me, John, tell me how you love it~”

John arched a bit, groaning softly.

“Ff-fUCK I love it! Fucking love the pain, Sherlock…god it’s so… _fucking_ good…love when you hurt me…love when you…when you punish me…”

He blushed at the absolutely _vulgar_ words spewing from his mouth, but he couldn’t stop himself.

Sherlock’s features suddenly changed, his eyes narrowing as his pupils clouding with lust and something else John couldn’t decipher.  
He flicked his skillful tongue over his lips, wetting them till they glistened. 

John watched him with heavy eyes, grunting softly as those slender hips slowed, swiveling and making a figure-8 around John’s cock. He saw Sherlock part his lips to speak, but what came out was the last thing John expected to hear.

“Est-ce qu’il se sent bien, Jean? Aimes-tu quand je roulee ta bite?”

John’s eyes went wide with wonder, a searing heat bubbling in his gut as the syllables rolled off of Sherlock’s slick tongue.

“Wh-…Sh-Sherlock you…wha-“

“French, John…I’m fluent.”

As John gawked in awe, Sherlock began slowly rocking up and down onto John’s cock again.

“W-what did you…hnn…say?” came John’s voice, weak and broken.

Sherlock smirked, a few white teeth showing.

“I said…”

He leaned down, rocking his hips as he licked at John’s ear.

“Does it feel good, John? Do you like when I ride your cock?”

Sherlock’s voice was a deep, throaty whisper, and John shuddered as it caressed his eardrum.

Even if he tried, John wouldn’t be able to hold back the wrecked moan that tore from his throat as those filthy words slithered past his ear.

“I’ll take that as a yes~”

Sherlock gained speed, letting out soft little grunts now with every slap his arse made against John’s pelvis. His blank façade was beginning to fade, but his empowered expression only grew deeper. He knew that for every ounce of pleasure he felt, John was feeling it ten-fold.

“Comment vous sentez-vous, Jean? Comment vous sentez-vous á l’intérieur de mon cul serré?”

When John didn’t answer, lost in the pleasure those sounds were giving him, Sherlock rewarded him with another vicious slap.

“I **SAID** ,” he snarled.

“How does it feel, John? How does it feel inside my tight arse?”

John bit his lip, his cheek burning, his heart racing, his dick throbbing and his head pounding.

“S-so good, Sherlock…fuck…better than anything…”

“Mmm, Oui, Jean…vous l’aimez. Aiment se sentir comment je suis étiré pour votre épais, bite dure.”*(translations at end)

John let out a long, breathy groan at the sound of that simply _criminal_ voice, spilling over Sherlock’s plush lips like melted chocolate. The soft, almost gentle sounds were in shocking juxtaposition with the deep, baritone timbre of that luscious voice. There was a certain breathy quality as he spoke, sounding a bit breathless as he bounced vigorously on John’s prick.

John cried out a strangled sound as he felt a thin thumb press back into the scar tissue.

“Oui crier pour moi…permettez-moi de vous entendre crier combine vous l’aimez quand je rebondis sur votre bite….votre chaud, gras, jutex bite…”**

Sherlock let out a soft sound as the ridge of the head of John’s prick caught on the bundle of nerves inside him.

“Oh oui! Oui, c’est l’endriot, Jean!”  
Sherlock sounded weaker, breathy with sudden pleasure.

John took this opportunity to grip Sherlock’s creamy thighs, pleased when he was allowed to. He bit his worn lip, watching as Sherlock’s wet, leaking cock bounced in front of him and dribbled precum onto John’s stomach.

He suddenly felt the familiar heat of orgasm bubbling up in his gut.  
Clenching his teeth, John did his best to hold it back as he remembered Sherlock’s threat.

Sherlock began to come undone, it seemed to John. His shoulders raised and goosebumps speckled over his arms and legs. It made it that much harder not to come as John saw the detective’s brow pinch and those sinful lips fall open.

“Fuck…” he grunted through his teeth. 

Sherlock’s dark eyes fluttered open for a moment, and all John saw was desire and need and the most ardent hunger he’d seen on anyone, let alone his flatmate.

“John…” he nearly whimpered, his voice wracked with satisfaction and pleasure.

John couldn’t help his hips from thrusting shallowly up into the unbearable heat of Sherlock’s arse, groaning as the ridge of his cockhead caught on the detective’s prostate once more and the muscles clenched around him.

“Oh shit…” he grunted, his eyes pressed shut and his lips parted.

Sherlock’s body suddenly began to tremble, and little gasps started tumbling past his lips.

“J-Je vais à l-l’orgasme, Jean! Plus! S’il vou plaît…s’il vou plaît!! Juste un peu plus!”***

Now John didn’t speak a lick of French, but he could recognize the words “orgasm” and “please” anywhere.

“Sh-Sherlock…c-can I…please, I need to-…”

He was cut off by a slender finger slipping into his mouth and pressing on his tongue.  
Sherlock’s eyes were half-lidded and he looked like he was about to fall apart.

“C-come for me John…I want to hear you scream…”

John would’ve thanked Sherlock for speaking in English, but he was too preoccupied with the sensations building in his stomach.

Soft, weak gasps started escaping his throat, and soon, the room was echoing with gasps and cries and whimpers from both men.

“Oh god…Sher—oh _GOD_ **YES**!!” John cried as he thrusted up hard into the detective and soon tumbled over the edge, his hips stuttering and voice cracking. 

The feeling was unlike any other orgasm he’d ever had. 

He lost control of his body, and for a moment, he was completely unaware that there was anything in the world other than him, Sherlock, and a room of white. God knows what kind of sounds he made, because he couldn’t hear anything but a high pitched ringing that overtook his senses. Pleasure wracked his every cell to the point it almost hurt, and his hips involuntarily pulsed forward with every wave. 

Somewhere within the first few moments of John’s orgasm, Sherlock began to crumble over the edge with him. A wonton cry left his lips as his hips jerked. He soon began to paint white streaks onto John’s stomach as his cock jumped, untouched. Dark curls tossed to and fro as he threw his head back, his cries harmonizing with John’s.

“John! F-FUCK, John!” he whimpered, his voice nothing but a cracked whine.

John could barely hear Sherlock over the ringing in his ears, but as the sound began to dissipate, he could hear every breathy moan he was eliciting from the younger man.

“Sh-Sherlock…fuck, I…NHH! Jesus!!” He cried, as aftershocks shook his body. He couldn’t keep his eyes open, and he groaned softly at the slick, slippery feeling of his come filling Sherlock’s hole around his cock and seeping out.

Sherlock was coming down from his high, John could tell, and that gloriously wrecked look began to fade.

“Y-you performed admirably, my dear little _pet_ …” Sherlock cooed, his voice thin and dark.

John couldn’t help but whimper as the detective raised his hips and John slipped out.

“What can I say…” he replied breathily.

“I…I’m used to taking orders…”

Sherlock flashed a wicked smile, still panting softly.

“That you are. Maybe next time I’ll make you wear your uniform.”

John’s chest clenched at the thought. It was good enough that there WAS a next time.

“Maybe…” the army doctor responded, his eyes falling closed and his breath deepening.

Thin fingers dragged along his chest, causing him to elicit a soft, content hum.

“Falling asleep are we?” Sherlock cooed patronizingly. “Well…be ready for a rude awakening in the morning, _soldier_.”

A smirk tugged at John’s tired lips.

“Bright and early.”

 

FIN.

**Author's Note:**

> Please Check out my tumblr, viera-draws-stuff !!! :D
> 
>  
> 
> Translations:  
> *(Mmm, yes, John…you like it. Like to feel how I’m stretched for your thick, hard cock.)  
> **(Yeah, cry out for me…let me hear you scream how you like it when I bounce on your cock…your hot, fat, juicy cock.)  
> ***(I’m going to orgasm, John! More! Please, please, just a little more!)


End file.
